A while ago,
I was on about pubs without music and their attraction for me. I have
an unfortunate knack of wandering into the other sort-pubs with music,
particularly sea-side pubs just as the ‘musical entertainment’ is about
to begin. No sooner am I comfortably seated with my pint than some musical
idiot proceeds to batter my eardrums—right hand hitting the defenceless
keys of the piano, approximating the melody, while the left hand flails
about hitting whither it falls.

Sometimes I
am greeted by an electronic organ, some with electronic rhythm sections
built in, oscillating menacingly from strategically placed loud speakers
(and I do mean loud). What they all play is never known to me for I
only hear as much of their repertoire as it takes me to sink the remainder
of my pint before I disappear into the night.

Fortunately
there is yet another type of pub—that which presents music in a civilised
manner. One such is the Queen’s Head in Great Clacton. It is not by
accident that the sound of Quincey Jones greets you on your entrance.
It could just as easily be the Duke, Basie, Tatum, or anything worth
hearing—and all played at a discreet level. The Guv’nor is Doug Tate,
onetime drummer and percussionist. His policy: to serve good drink (draught
Worthy and Guinness), good food (personally prepared by his charming
wife Wynne), and good music to help it all down.

I make it a
point to pop in and enjoy their wares whenever I find myself in Essex.
It is such a pleasant change to be able to talk about music with someone
who loves it. I don’t have to tell you about the pitiful level of repartee
one gets from casual bar acquaintances in strange pubs.

When I asked
Doug if he ever had complaints from his regulars about the music, he
assured me he didn’t—which struck me as remarkable, as the customers
were varied in type and age group. “The answer,” explained Doug, “is
simple. I don’t tell them that I’m playing jazz and they don’t mind.”
So there you go.

I can’t really
say that I approve of such talent used as background music to chat,
but I know that if there must be music in pubs, good stuff is less nerve–racking.
Nothing is worse than to have your attention drawn from what someone
is saying because bum notes keep smashing your ears.